


Assorted shorts from tumblr and elsewhere

by joyfulseeker



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, M/M, Secretly a Virgin, Soul Bond, pretending to be dating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:52:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2074083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joyfulseeker/pseuds/joyfulseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ongoing collection of short stories written elsewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Growing your hair out, January 2013

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter is a separate story, usually short and rarely over 1000 words. Unedited. These are reposted from tumblr and livejournal. I will try to put warnings in the individual chapter notes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick Kane's hair. Gen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written for a prompt from altri-uccelli in home-ice's friending meme in September of 2013. No warnings apply.

In January, Patrick got what his sisters called a "touch up" haircut pretty much the day after he landed in Chicago. Not much of one, but he wanted to keep his hair out of his eyes. February, Patrick hadn't decided yet. Things were going so hot it seemed best not to mess with anything, but it wasn't like a conscious decision yet. March, Patrick had basically decided. March, Patrick committed. He did it right, too, he mentally prepared for the upcoming trials, he strengthened his focus, he bolstered his self-esteem. The locker room was going to be tough, but Patrick Kane would get through it because his personal dignity was a small price to pay for the success of his team.

In the least shocking turn of events of all time, Sharpy was the first guy to notice. He gave Patrick a highly skeptical look at practice some time in mid-March, when he was still in a no-contact jersey and bragging about being the only guy on the team still on a point streak. 

"Kaner," he said, "you're giving my daughter a run for her money, when was the last time you cut your hair?"

"Your daughter and I know where it's at," Patrick said, and leaned against the boards to watch the blood drain from Sharpy's face.

"No," Sharpy said.

"It's time," Patrick said. "I can feel it."

"Oh Christ," Sharpy said, and skated away.

In April a lot more people started noticing, and started asking. Jonny just looked over at him when they waited in line for breakfast and shook his head the third time Patrick had to push his hair out of his face because he'd forgotten his hat up in his room. 

"This won't be a problem later," Patrick defended.

"Don't remind me," Jonny said. "I don't want to kill my appetite."

Shawzy was a complete beast about it, Bicks also, making fun like it was their job, but Patrick figured at least ten percent of that was jealousy they hadn't thought of it early enough to join in. Can't all be like Patrick Kane. Willing to give so much to the team.

"I'm getting married!" Bicks protested. "I need my girlfriend to want to stick around at least until August."

"Oh, are you getting married?" Shawzy said. "I didn't know that, you've never mentioned that ever."

"Be careful of Pickles in practice, boys," Crow said. "He's getting married."

"I'm definitely getting one of you assholes to do it with me," Patrick said. "For the team."

"Saader," Sharpy said instantly. "Best hair for it."

"Awfully quick off the draw, there," Shawzy said. "Considering."

Saader shrugged and the locker room went silent. 

"For the team," Saader said.


	2. Side effects of a soulbond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Carter/Richards soulbond story I almost forgot I wrote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet was also written for a prompt from altri-uccelli on home-ice's friending meme back in September of 2013. Descriptions of anxiety and sleeplessness.

Mike has difficulty sleeping anyway, and it turns out that sleeping troubles shared are not sleeping troubles halved. Even when Carts is down the hall in a different bedroom he can feel the wide-awake jitter of Jeff's thoughts, bouncing against his own like pinballs.

Hey, he thinks, and feels a sharp stab of apology, which doesn't help at all. Down on the floor, Arnold's tags jingle as he rolls over. The only good thing about Columbus was that the distance made everything muted and sometimes Mike didn't lie awake feeling adrenaline for two. 

Great, now Jeff's over there feeling disgruntled that Mike called anything about Columbus good, which is bullshit because they both talked over Skype about the few upsides in that whole business, and they agreed on the sleep thing. Jesus. Mike sits up and puts his feet on the floor. Arnold sits up instantly. Everyone in this house is a big fucking faker.

Mike shuffles into sweatpants and a hoodie, grabs a leash, and meets Jeff at the head of the stairs. They're teaching the dog bad habits, but Jeff gives two shits about that. He's such a bad influence. Jeff smiles and shakes his head, and Mike tangles their fingers together, so they go down the stairs together before Jeff drops back to let Mike lead the way outside, Mike keeping Jeff's hand in his, holding on to the leash with the other.

"Sorry," Jeff says. 

"You used to sleep like a baby in Juniors," Mike says. He remembers how peaceful it was to lie in bed and feel Jeff's sleeping mind, like his own personal white-noise generator. Somewhere along the line that changed.

"Yeah," Jeff says, "and then some agitated asshole got me thinking like him, so you've only got yourself to blame." He tightens his grip on Mike's hand, though, a brief apology before he loosens it again.

It feels good to move, to walk along the beach together. Good emotions get magnified between the two of them just like bad ones. Jeff doesn't invite Mike out to New Jersey much, so it's really only since LA that they've spent much time at the beach. It's nice out here, even in the dark.

"Jersey's a little different," Jeff says. "Different crowd." He slings an arm over Mike's shoulders, which he hardly ever does. Mike decides to allow it because it's after midnight. He smells good, like their shared laundry detergent, and right now, like the ocean. They head toward the harder sand closer to the surf, then turn to walk along the shore.

Twenty minutes usually does it if a walk's going to work at all, ten minutes out and ten minutes back. By the time they reach the house with the crazy orange lantern, they're both evening out. Mike used to do this walk alone, and he'd always go out a lot farther, come back an hour later, sometimes wind-whipped and damp and feeling no better but turning back for Arnold's sake. He doesn't know what Jeff did on those nights.

"Stayed up feeling sorry for myself and injured," Jeff says wryly as they turn around.

"Yeah, well," Mike says. Jeff's honesty about the whole thing always leaves Mike feeling tongue-tied.

"Hey," Jeff says.

Mike looks over.

"Love you," Jeff says. He always says it, which Mike didn't understand for the longest time, because wasn't that kind of the point? That Mike would know? It took the words turning into a band-aid that Jeff would try to apply over the phone, skype, text, email, before Mike really got it.

"Yeah," Mike says. "Love you too."


	3. Leaving on the next train, Edmonton Oilers, April 2013

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I remember googling Edmonton's rail system intensely for this prompt, and then not using any of that information. Gen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt from littlestclouds on home-ice's friending meme in September of 2013. No warnings apply.

Taylor strips off his jersey and dumps it in the laundry bin, then his pads. He strips the tape from his socks, balls it up, chucks it at Ebs, where it sticks to his stomach for a second before he sneers at Taylor and then adds it to his own tape ball. Otherwise, there's not much talking going on. Taylor works his fingers into the tight muscle in his shoulder, then scrubs at his sweaty face with a towel.

There's an odd mood in the dressing room tonight. They won for the second time in a row, against two good teams, two playoff teams, but they're not going to playoffs. They're going home, to the beach, to Vegas, wherever. Again. Plus, they just got done playing two playoff teams, so they were facing a team of call-ups, third and fourth liners. At least it was a blow-out both times. 

The older guys are especially quiet, Gags and Horc, some of the others. Nail is over in his stall pretty much vibrating out of his skin. Taylor keeps seeing his face, the smile flickering on and off like a light with bad wiring. 

"Someone should take out the rookie," Taylor says to Ebs. "Get him trashed. Had a hell of a game."

Jordan gives Taylor a look. "Are you volunteering?"

"Maybe tomorrow," Taylor says. His exit interview's tomorrow, he's got some media shit tomorrow. He doesn't feel old, but he does feel tired. He wants to shower, go home, change out of his suit, and sit on the couch. He doesn't want to answer questions about his third season not making the playoffs. They won tonight, they won last night, he led the team in points, he just, more than anything he wants to be a winner, and when he looks around the room, well.

Anyway, he'll raise a glass tomorrow for the end of their season.


	4. Jamie Benn, secretly a virgin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie Benn and Tyler Seguin in Dallas, 2013.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For sinsensory's [prompt on tumblr](http://joyfulseeker.tumblr.com/post/78379658153/any-pairing-or-threesome-you-wish-secretly-a-virgin). No warnings apply.

"Dude, you are like the stealthiest person I know," Tyler says.

"Hm?" Jamie looks up from his beer.

"I have like never seen you pick up," Tyler says. "Secret agent level of stealth."

Jamie ducks his head down, and then takes a drink. When he looks back up, Tyler’s still staring at him.

"Yeah well, like you’re Sherlock Holmes," Jamie mutters.

He used to spend a lot of time dreading this sort of question. He’s no good at deflection, which is why he ends up so inarticulate around the press. He takes another drink, and then focuses on setting his glass down exactly centered within the circle of his beer coaster.

"Everyone else, I know the score, but you, man." Tyler shakes his head.

Jamie shrugs. The bar they’re in is quiet enough for conversation, which sucks right now, but is hopefully dark enough that Segs can’t see how he’s starting to turn red. He’s starting to feel really aware of his hands, fingertips tingling with adrenaline, a knot of tension sitting in his stomach.

"So what is it?" Tyler asks.

"What is it?" Jamie says.

"What’s the score, dude? You dating someone in BC?"

"No," Jamie says. 

"Oh." Tyler licks his lips, like he’s preparing to say something else, then takes a drink instead.

Jamie’s not stupid, he knows why Segs is asking, but he still feels like someone has a hand around his throat.

"Sorry," Tyler says after a second. "Just wondering. Let me get another round, what you want?"

Jamie swallows, then clears his throat. “IPA,” he says, and watches Segs the entire way back to the bar.


	5. Jonathan Toews goes out for lunch and returns with a baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accidental baby acquisition, Kane/Toews-style. Sorta-gen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for poeelektra for [a trope meme on tumblr](http://joyfulseeker.tumblr.com/post/78391691310/eff-yes-best-meme-so-psyched-to-see-you-post-it) in March of 2014. Warnings for child abandonment.

Jonny goes out for Chipotle burrito bowls and comes back wild-eyed, and not empty-handed. 

"Uh," Patrick says.

"I think we need to call the police," Jonny says. "Also Hawks PR."

He sets down the paper bag of steak-and-fajitas-with-cheese-and-guac on the kitchen table, and shifts the blanket-wrapped baby onto his shoulder. He’s got one hand cradling the head. His index finger covers the crown while his pinky is all the way down at lower-back area. It’s a really really really small baby.

"Uhhhhhhhhh," Patrick says.

The baby makes a gurgling, smacking noise, then another one, and then starts to cry weakly.

"Oh shit. Okay, uh. Let me." Patrick gropes in his pocket for his phone. "Is it okay?" he hisses.

"I mean, I don’t know, some asshole left her outside a building in downtown Chicago near a trash can, but I’m guessing she’s hungry," Jonny says in a completely flat voice.

"I don’t have anything for babies!" Patrick whispers as he dials 9-1-1. "It’s a girl?"

"I don’t know, I’m guessing,” Jonny hisses. He jiggles the baby a little bit.

The automated phone tree message asks Patrick to state his language preference. He stabs “1” for English. It then tells him in English and Spanish that he needs to hold to speak to a dispatcher. Jesus, what if he was being pursued by a murderer?

"Maybe she needs to be changed?" Patrick says. "I don’t have any diapers though."

"Wow, what a surprise," Jonny says. The baby starts crying even louder.

"Chicago Dispatch, do you have an emergency," a woman says in Patrick’s ear.

"Uh, we’ve found an abandoned baby," Patrick says. "Outside my apartment building."

"What’s your name, sir?"

Patrick blows out a breath. “Patrick Kane.”

"Is the baby hurt?"

"Well, it’s crying," Patrick says awkwardly.

"Are there any signs of injury?" she asks.

Jonny, who has been leaning his ear toward Patrick but trying to angle the baby away, shakes his head.

"No," Patrick says.

"Mr Kane, if you’ll give your address, and phone number, we’ll send an officer right away."

Right, okay then. 

The next two hours are a hustle of calling down to the lobby to make sure they know where to direct emergency personnel, calling Sharpy and Abby so they can bring over diapers and some formula, calling Hawks PR so they know about the shit-storm potentially heading their way, and then giving statements to police officers while EMTs check out the baby and the baby cries.

Jonny was right, it is a girl.

"Was that your maternal instinct coming out?" Patrick asks during a break when no one wants anything from them. He’s trying to distract himself from the wailing coming from his guest bedroom, and also from too obviously eyeing their abandoned lunch, still in its paper bag.

"I don’t know, asshole, did I change my gender when I went to get lunch?" Jonny says.

Ouch, definitely some low blood sugar going on over there.

"You could eat lunch, it’s right there," Patrick says.

"I’m not eating lunch while there are still emergency responders in your apartment," Jonny says. "How do you think that would look?"

"Like it’s 3 pm and we’re both hungry," Patrick says.

Jonny frowns, and that’s how they end up both having to put down their forks hastily when a social worker arrives.

…….and then blah blah blah [a judge makes Jonny adopt a baby](http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/02/28/we-found-our-son-in-the-subway/?_php=true&_type=blogs&_php=true&_type=blogs&_r=1&) and Patrick helps him take care of her and they fall in love, the end.


	6. Pretending to be dating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretending to be dating, Kane/Toews.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For svmadelyn and an anon request for [a trope meme on tumblr](http://joyfulseeker.tumblr.com/post/78414763471/for-svmadelyn-and-an-anon-pretending-to-be), March of 2014. No warnings apply.

When Jonny says, “Sorry, I’m seeing someone,” he doesn’t actually mean to turn and scan the room until he makes eye contact with the first teammate he sees. He’s just trying to avoid the disappointment on the dude’s face.

They’re in LA with a fortuitous break in the schedule so they can enjoy warm weather and sunny blue skies. It’s raining, though. The air in the club is damp as hell.

Everyone piled into cabs and then sat in traffic for forty-five minutes at 10 pm on a Saturday, so they arrived determined to have a good time. Jonny has a headache from the changing barometric pressure combined with the bass beat going through the overhead speakers, and he just wants a fucking beer.

He accidentally glances back and meets the guy’s eyes. The guy’s nicely-styled hair is wilting over his forehead in the humidity. Shit. He thought maybe the “I’m seeing someone” thing would soften the blow but maybe not. Before the guy offered to buy Jonny a drink with a strong undertone of “or maybe let’s just get out of here,” they’d been having a good conversation about house music while they shuffled toward the front of the bar.

"Sorry," Jonny says again. "I’m from out of town, so. Not that you’re not, uh."

Kaner eels his way out of the crowd and butts into Jonny’s arm. “What’s taking so long?”

Jesus, they’re finally at the front.

"Can we buy you a drink?" Jonny asks. Kaner turns and faces the guy, looking curiously between the two of them.

"No thanks," the guy says listlessly, and then melts back into the crowd.

"Was he there just to talk to you?" Kaner asks.

"I guess," Jonny says.

After a second, Kaner starts laughing. “Can we buy you a drink?” he imitates.

"I was being polite," Jonny says.

"Fucking heartbreaker," Kaner says.

"Shut the hell up," Jonny says. "What are you drinking."

"Coors," Kaner says.

Jonny grimaces but orders two anyway.

"I can’t believe you used that line on him," Kaner says. He’s pressed in close, sweaty and warm all up along Jonny’s back, talking over Jonny’s shoulder. 

Jonny elbows Kaner back to get his wallet out and slap twelve bucks on the bar, five dollars for shitty beer, great.

"I guess you get to decide if it was a line," Jonny says. He turns and shoves one of the glasses into Kaner’s hand. "Fucking heartbreaker."


	7. PK in high school

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High school AU, always-a-girl-style. PK Subban/Carey Price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Maleyka, for [a tropes meme on tumblr](http://joyfulseeker.tumblr.com/post/81269421520/yesssss-i-will-seize-this-opportunity-with-both-hands), March 2014. No warnings apply.

PK isn’t dozing, exactly, when Mr. Friedman calls on her, but she definitely isn’t thinking about the geography of the Middle East, so it’s a pretty rude shock when he suddenly says, “Priscilla Karla Subban, I’m sorry to disturb your nap, but I need one of the neighboring countries of Turkey, if you wouldn’t mind.”

"Oh, sure thing, Mr. F," she says. Darting her eyes to the side, she sees that Carey mouthing something at her. "Uh. Sssss."

"Eyes forward, please."

PK clears her throat. “Uh. Syria?”

"We’ll pretend you didn’t need help," he says balefully, and moves on to talk about current events.

Once the scene is clear, PK looks over to the side, and whispers, “thanks,” and then puckers her lips in a kiss. Carey rolls her eyes, and looks resolutely forward. Carey has the best profile.

After class, PK sneaks out as quietly as she can while Mr. Friedman is answering someone’s question on their independent projects. She darts after Carey to plaster herself to her back, using her momentum to lift herself up a little to get at Carey’s cheek so she can smack a kiss.

"Ugh, PK!" Carey says. PK’s dislodged her backwards ball cap, so she has to resettle it.

"You’re a lifesaver," PK says, and then has to wipe at the smear of purple lip gloss she left behind.

"Why are you getting your goop on me," Carey says, dropping her shoulder in protest.

"That’s my love, baby, embrace it," PK says. She lets Carey slide her off to one side, but links elbows instead. "I thought I was dead though, detention for sure! You know he doesn’t like me."

"Maybe it’s because you always mix up Abu Dhabi and Dubai."

"I looked that shit up, they’re legitimately close." PK snuggles gratuitously closer, and bats her eyelashes up at Carey. "I was almost right."

"Ugh, stop flirting with me," Carey says. She looks a little red, it’s great.

"Why, I like flirting with you," PK says.

"Still flirting," Carey says. She doesn’t let go of PK’s arm.

There’s a dance coming up soon. PK’s been thinking about asking Carey to go with her, that’s what she was thinking about in class, because she’s liked Carey forever, it feels like. Since they both ended up on the same hockey team when they were twelve, and the same middle school in grade eight. 

"Why don’t you like me flirting with you, Carey?" PK says. For a long time she thought maybe Carey didn’t like her the same way, but she gets so jealous whenever PK goes and hangs off any of her other friends. PK’s sisters keep telling her that means something.

Carey’s ducking her head down, cheeks turning redder and shoulders creeping up higher. “Hey, come on,” she says quietly.

"I was thinking about going to the dance, and I want you to come with me," PK says. She didn’t exactly mean it to come out like that. She bites her lip and presses her mouth together, then keeps going. "I mean, as, like, together. I want us to go together." Her voice, already pretty high, keeps going higher with every word, pretty soon she’s going to sound like she’s on helium.

"So yeah," she squeaks. "I’m uh flirting with you."

"Oh," Carey says quietly. She’s smiling down at her shoes, her arm pressed tight against PK’s. "Okay."


	8. Partners in a dance class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ballroom dancing AU, Kane/Toews.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for smoulderandbraids, from [a prompt on tumblr](http://joyfulseeker.tumblr.com/post/82068219055/hello-au-fic-prompts-choose-a-wizard-au-where-on-of) in April of 2014. No warnings apply

Jonny goes because Sharpy invokes their secret pact to never tell anyone they both cried at their accidental viewing of the Notebook that terrible night they ended up snowed-in at Tahoe in a rental cabin with an old CRT TV hooked up to a DVD player, no antenna, only one DVD in the entire place.

"We’re brothers," Sharpy hisses. "Blood brothers sealed with tears and Ryan Gosling. You can’t abandon me. Also, I got a two-for-one groupon, you’re going for free."

"We agreed that everyone makes mistakes," Jonny says. "Just because your mistake was lying to your fiancee for years about your ability to waltz—"

"She bet me dinner that I couldn’t, our courtship was on the line, I had no choice, now come on, we’re going to be late."

It’s a dance studio just off Church Street in the Lower Haight. It is wall-to-wall gay men. Jonny and Sharpy fit right in.

"You should be thanking me right now," Sharpy says. "It’s so romantic!"

"I’m so thankful you’ve brought me to a place full of couples. It’s so great," Jonny says. He knows exactly what story he’s going to lead with in his best man speech.

The class starts. Jonny and Sharpy are HOPELESS. They’re so hopeless Jonny’s hands start sweating out of rage. Eventually, the cheerful older lady teaching the class separates them so she can work with Sharpy on her own. She hands Jonny over to the guy she’d been dancing with. He’s blond, stocky, has dry hands that direct Jonny calmly, and, best of all, he doesn’t say anything aside from humming along with the music until Jonny’s heartrate slows down. Jonny likes him already.

"Sorry," Jonny mutters when he accidentally shuffles onto the guy’s left foot.

"Don’t worry about it," the guy says.

"I’m Jonny, by the way," Jonny says.

"Patrick," the guy says. "Nice to meet you, Jonny."

Jonny looks up from his feet, then. Patrick has bright blue eyes, curly hair peeking out from under a backwards baseball hat, light blond stubble just starting to show on his cheeks and chin, and a slightly chapped lower lip that curls into a smile as Jonny looks.

"Thought that’d make you stop staring at your feet," Patrick says. "I’m much more interesting, I promise."

"Are you," Jonny says.

"I bet I am," Patrick says.

"You bet, huh?" Jonny says.

"Sure," Patrick says easily.

They move together for a few more steps, and Jonny finds his eyes creeping down again.

Patrick says, “What brings you into the studio today? I haven’t seen you before.” It’s obvious he’s just trying to distract Jonny from staring at his own feet. Jonny answers him anyway, taking as much pleasure as possible in explaining Sharpy’s bad life choices and casting himself as the long-suffering hero, which he is. Patrick laughs a few times, which gives Jonny a little feeling of satisfaction in his chest.

"Anyway," Jonny ends, "what about you? Are you an instructor?"

"Oh, me, nah," Patrick says. "I just like to dance. For fun. But I figured I’d help Annalise out tonight, since she figured it’d be a big class. She said she’d teach me something cool in exchange."

"Oh, cool," Jonny says. He can feel color rising in his face, but he says, "Well, it worked out for me, anyway."

"Yeah, me too," Patrick says, holding eye contact the whole time.


	9. BFFs when they were little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next-door-neighbors AU, Kane and Toews.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt from poeelektra on tumblr, April 2014. No warnings apply.

Pat definitely remembered when Jonny moved in next door. He was nine, and so freaking glad that the family that moved in after the Johnsons moved out had boys. Maybe he’d get a break from playing dress-up with his sisters.

He kicked a soccer ball around his front yard, trying to get around the biggest dandelions without running into them, working his way closer and closer to the Johnsons’ old house. Movers were still going up and down the front stairs. 

Inside the house something crashed. Pat cocked his head to the side and toed the ball up onto his foot, then tried to punt it up onto his knee. He was chasing after it when two kids came out onto the front stoop, the older boy holding a younger boy by the hand.

"I told you to stay out of the way," the older boy said in a loud whisper. "Now they’re all mad at us! Mom said she won’t set up the net downstairs."

"Shut up, I didn’t mean to!" the younger boy said tearfully. They both stopped as soon as they saw Pat.

"Hey," Pat said. He slid the soccer ball back and put his foot on top of it. Then he toed it back and forth before kicking it over to where they stood. "I’m Pat."

"Jonny. This is Davy," the older boy said. He kicked the ball back. Pretty good placement. That’s what Pat’s dad always said when Pat did something good. Pretty good placement. Nice shot.

Pat raised his chin in a nod. “Cool.”

"Cool," Jonny echoed. Davy looked like he’d gone shy, edging back behind Jonny a little.

"Hey," Pat said. He angled his body to the side, and punted the ball back and forth between his feet. "Try and take the ball from me. But you can’t use your hands, okay."

Jonny snorted. “Obviously.” He looked over at his brother. “Davy, keep score.”


	10. Being ridden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My choice of Hawks, so I went with Jonny/Sharpy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For smoulderandbraids from tumblr, June 2014. Brought the porn on this one, so warnings for explicit content, consensual infidelity, friends with benefits.

Jonny says, “You have a free pass right now?” He wouldn’t usually ask, he doesn’t like to push. But he’s got a burn tonight. And they’re on the road.

Sharpy looks startled for a second, and then a slow, sly smile starts to creep across his face. It’s the sort of thing that would usually make Jonny’s blood pressure start to spike, trying to anticipate where that look was going to go, but tonight, Jonny knows exactly where it’s going, and he is going to appreciate sliding it right off Sharpy’s face.

"Yeah," Sharpy says. "You have something in mind?"

They’re waiting at the elevator to go up. Jonny picked his moment just right, helped by Hoss stopping at the front desk to mail a postcard to his daughters.

There’s a timing to this thing they do. Jonny hasn’t tested it much. Mostly, he lets Sharpy come to him. 

"Yeah. I do," Jonny says.

The elevator up-arrow dings and then the doors open. Sharpy makes a mocking little motion, waves Jon forward like he’s being solicitous. Like he’s doing Jon a favor. But he crowds up behind Jonny when they get in, almost on his heels, like Jonny needs to be herded onward.

Jonny ignores him and presses the button for their floor. Sharpy leans in closer, rests his chin on Jonny’s shoulder and digs into the muscle there.

"Fucking loon," Jonny mutters, elbowing Sharpy in the stomach. Sharpy laughs and straightens up.

Yeah, that’s it. That’s the burn Jonny feels. He turns in place. They’re standing face-to-face, just six inches apart. Jonny hooks his index finger in the knot of Sharpy’s tie and pulls, dragging him closer. The elevator bumps to a stop. The doors open. Jonny lets go and exits, leaving Sharpy to straighten up quickly and follow him.

"In a hurry?" Sharpy asks when he’s caught up. He sounds a little breathless.

"Getting a little slow, old man?" Jonny says, for the way it makes Sharpy’s eyes narrow. 

He jostles Jonny up against the side of the hallway and then keeps walking. He’s got the room at the very end, no one else around him. If that had been Jonny’s room, they’d have gone to his. If neither of them had gotten a secluded room, they would have had to keep very, very quiet.

Sharpy gets the door open. Jonny follows him in and closes the door behind him, locking both the door and swinging the sliding lock over. When he turns around, Sharpy is standing near the desk, body turned in profile. He’s taken his jacket off and is working on his cuff links.

Jonny crosses the room and takes Sharpy’s wrist in his hands so he can maneuver the first cuff link free. Sharpy offers his other hand without prompting when Jonny has finished. He’s that kind of guy. He likes to be taken care of. That’s how this whole thing had started, back in the day.

Once the cuff links are off, everything moves faster. Jonny catches the knot of Sharpy’s tie in his fist again and yanks him in, this time not stopping until they’re kissing, until Sharpy is giving as good as he gets. With his other hand, Jonny grasps Sharpy’s hand, which has been holding onto Jonny’s shoulder, and places it deliberately on his ass. Sharpy’s fingers flex and he pulls away to huff a laugh into the side of Jonny’s face.

"I guess I know what you want," Sharpy says. His voice is shading downward. He lets his lips smear, open-mouthed, across Jonny’s cheek as he rubs his face against Jonny’s. 

Jonny knows what he’s going to take tonight.

"Are you objecting to fucking me?" Jonny asks.

"Sounds like some work," Sharpy says, but Jonny heard that quick punch-out of breath, and felt the way Sharpy’s body moved against his. Can’t lie worth a shit when you’re pressed that close together.

"I’ll do all the work," Jonny says.

It’s easy to push forward toward the bed. Sharpy’s left his bag open, covering half of it, clothes and electronics cords and other shit spilling out onto the bedspread. Jonny shoves Sharpy down and then shifts over and moves the bag to the floor while Sharpy twists around to lean against the headboard. When Jonny looks up, Sharpy’s got his dress slacks open and is stroking himself lazily. It’s a good look. 

Sharpy’s in his own room, but Jonny’s going to have to walk out of here. He takes his clothes off and hangs them over the desk chair with more care than usual, and he can feel Sharpy’s eyes on him the whole time. He takes his condoms and lube out of his inner jacket pocket and tosses them toward the bed.

Sharpy says, “I only brought two suits this trip. Four shirts.”

"You want me to be careful of your suit?" Jonny asks. It’s an honest question.

Sharpy nods. Jonny crawls naked onto the bed. He taps Sharpy’s hip to rise up so he can pull Sharpy’s pants off and set them aside. Sharpy’s still touching himself when Jonny starts on the buttons of his dress shirt, sleeve crumpled around his elbow as he flexes his forearm. He has to let go to sit up enough that Jonny can peel the rest of the shirt off him, and then he leans back on the pillows again. 

"Come over here," Sharpy says. That smirk is back, curling around the edges of his mouth like they aren’t both naked here on his bed. Like Jonny wasn’t the one who got them there.

Jonny swings a leg over Sharpy’s thighs and settles all his weight down, just a little too far out of reach unless Sharpy sits up.

"I’m here," Jonny drawls, and Sharpy laughs. Jonny goes up on his knees and slides a little closer. "Or did you mean here?" He settles back down into Sharpy’s lap. Sharpy lets go of his dick so he can get both hands around Jonny’s ass to haul him forward. Jonny decides to move. Sharpy’s just getting him closer to where he wants to be anyway.

Sharpy’s starting to sweat, and Jon’s warming up, too, from where they’re pressed together. Jonny rolls his hips down in a slow drag, feels his dick sliding with intermittent friction against Sharpy’s. Their balls press together, scratchy going to smooth, blood-warm. Pleasure from the contact spreads up his spine, and Jonny repeats his thrust, head lolling on his neck.

Sharpy tilts his head toward Jonny. Jonny bends down to kiss him, cradling his face between his palms. Sharpy’s hands grip tighter on Jon’s ass as he curls his body toward Jonny’s, as he move into the kiss, angling his head and opening his mouth.

Jonny’s kissed a lot of people. Weird things can turn him off, but he likes the way Sharpy kisses. That was one of the things that brought him back to take Sharpy up on his offer the first time. He likes the way Sharpy tastes, likes how he uses his tongue delicately, likes the feel of his jaw under his hands. He likes the way Sharpy sets up a rhythm, shallow testing kisses followed by deeper ones. 

Jonny likes kissing and he likes to fuck, but he doesn’t like to stay the night. Sharpy is god-damn perfect. Jesus, Jonny likes fucking with him.

"Sometimes," Jonny says between kisses, "when you’re pulling my fucking pigtails, leaving my shit around, I think about this." He works his way down to bite at Sharpy’s earlobe. "I think about how the next time I’m going to ride you until you can’t even think straight."

Sharpy groans. Jonny lets go and sits back, satisfied, to grope around in the bedclothes for the condom. He pitches it onto Sharpy’s chest.

"Deal with that, I’m going to be busy for a sec," he says. 

"Slave-driver," Sharpy says, reluctantly pulling his hands away from Jonny’s ass to open the condom.

Jonny opens the lube with a snap and slicks his fingers. He doesn’t need much with what he’s planning, just a little to open himself up and then a lot more on the condom. Sharpy is clearly tracking what he’s doing, and he closes his hand around Jonny’s on his dick to help him spread the lube around. He plants his feet and his knees come up to cradle Jonny and slide him more firmly into his lap. His hands go back onto Jonny’s ass, this time going in to spread him apart more than he already is, straddled the way he is. Sharpy’s fingertips flirt with the wet edges of Jonny’s hole. Jonny clenches and releases, muscles fluttering at the added stimulus.

Sharpy lets out a breath, a long, sighing exhalation, and Jonny lifts himself up, positions himself with one hand braced on Sharpy’s shoulder and the other reaching behind to hold Sharpy’s dick so he can start descending. 

"You wanted me to do all the work," Jonny says breathlessly. He’s making short, testing motions, slowly working the head of Sharpy’s dick in and then back out. It feels enormous like this, not that Jonny’s going to be stupid enough to say it. Doing it this way is slow, and it burns, and that gritty drive under Jonny’s skin is subsumed with the need to time everything right, to flex his muscles just the way he needs to get where he wants to go. Sharpy’s hands are helping, and his knees are bracing against Jonny’s sides. Jonny moves. 

Sharpy is saying things like, “Jesus, fuck, you are fucking crazy,” in low, punched-out phrases. Jonny just rolls his hips again and again, and Sharpy stops talking.

Jonny’s focused on the process, on working himself up and down Sharpy’s dick, on dragging that friction exactly where he wants it, that he doesn’t realize how close he is until Sharpy starts begging him to go faster. Sharpy’s hand closes on Jonny’s dick and starts moving in a rhythm that coaxes Jonny into speeding up to match it. Jonny’s muscles are burning, everything winding tighter and tighter, and then Sharpy’s hand makes one last, beautiful, amazing swipe over Jonny’s dick and Jonny is coming, all over Sharpy’s hand and chest. Sharpy is swearing in a long, continuous sentence, but he’s holding perfectly still, trembling as Jonny shakes around him. Jonny slumps down to rest his head in the sweaty hollow of Sharpy’s shoulder for a second, and then straightens back up.

"What do you need?" Jonny says hoarsely.

"Move," Sharpy hisses. 

Getting fucked after coming is a vindication of effort. It’s overwhelming, too-intense. It makes Jonny’s eyes dampen at the corners as he tightens around Sharpy. Sharpy’s hands are fisted now in the bedsheets. He lets go and grabs onto Jonny’s shoulder, pushing him down as he plants his feet and thrusts up, once, twice, and then he’s coming too, and collapsing back down onto the bed.

Jonny lifts himself up gingerly, slides off to the side. He lies down next to Sharpy so he can stretch out his legs and flex his feet. 

He feels hollowed out, peaceful. Content to just lie here a while. Later he’s going to get up and grab a shower. Feel out the bruises he gave himself on top of earlier ones from the game. He’s going to get back into his suit and he’s going to kiss Sharpy good night.

"Good job team," Sharpy mutters after a while. "Good group effort."

"Sure, Sharpy," Jonny says magnanimously. He’ll take that praise. He earned it.


End file.
